


Venture Forth

by heartslogos



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-03-19 11:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3608406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartslogos/pseuds/heartslogos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of drabbles and prompts for Dragon Age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

> [ashestodustdusttoashes](http://ashestodustdusttoashes.tumblr.com/) asked: Not really a pairing, but: 47, Alistair and Barkspawn

Dog whines and Alistair looks between the chewed up stave, half-buried -  
  
And really, it’s an  _impressively_ deep hole. It goes almost straight down the entire way, Alistair doesn’t even know how the dog has managed to dig it without anyone noticing. It’s a very  _large_ hole, is what he’s saying, because it’s a - well, it _was_ \- a very long and nice, and  _expensive_ , staff.  
  
Dog whines, lowering his head onto his paws.  
  
"Well. No one needs to  _know_.” Alistair says. “I mean. There are other staves. Besides, she’s always been complaining that this one was a little wonky, right? Something about her arcane bolts always listing a bit to the left? I wonder how that works. Isn’t she the one aiming it? I don’t think it’s the staff’s fault, but that’s what she says and I’m not going to argue with the lady. Still. No one needs to know. We just have to make sure that she doesn’t. Ah. Dig it up. I don’t think she would. I mean - she isn’t really fond of digging. Well, there was that one time - and wait. No. I mean. I mean I think you’ll be fine. I  _think_. I’m sure it will turn out well. Besides. She loves you. I’m fairly sure that between the two of us, she would pick you over me. I don’t blame her, either. Who wouldn’t? You’re a fierce mabari!”  
  
Dog rolls onto his side and whines.  
  
"Oh come  _on_ ,” Alistair half-heartedly shoves some dirt onto the staff. “You started it and I’m going to help you finish it. It’s just a staff. She won’t miss it too badly. We pick staffs off of dead bodies all the time. How hard could it be to replace this one?”  
  
Dog covers his face with a paw.  
  
"You are a real pessimist, aren’t you?"  
  
Dog’s hind legs kick a little.  
  
"Well fine. I’ll just be hopeful enough for us both. Come on. You dug the hole. Help me fill it up."


	2. Chapter 2

> dog in inquisition

So many new smells and people and other things to see. Not far from home, not really. Similar, stone walls and the smells of cows and other dogs and cats and mice and fowl and people. Swords and steel, the smell of a blacksmith’s forge and the smell of dead. It is like home but not yet, missing certain smells. It misses people.

His lady puts her hand on his head and he turns to nose at her fingers – the smell of blood and sweat and dirt because it has been a long time since they have had a bath and he doesn’t mind but she does so he takes baths with her and stays with her to keep her safe. He makes sure no one hurts her when she is in the water and sometimes Alistair tries to get her in the water but he is a good dog so he does not let him pass.

“Well, it’s certainly much more beautiful in person. Much less run down than rumor would lead one to believe.” His lady says. “Do you suppose they’ve got room for penniless travelers?”

But they are not penniless because his lady took many little metal pieces from the foolish ones who thought they could win against his mighty jaws. He tells her so and she laughs and he can smell familiar sweet smells.

Leliana is here and so is Morrigan.

He cannot see them but he can smell them.

He follows his lady and maybe she knows where they are. Leliana promised him a song.

His lady pauses near the soldiers and some of them smell like familiar places, Redcliffe and Denerim, home and in between, and she smiles. She nudges him with her foot as she goes towards the training soldiers and he goes to explore a little. He listens for her so he can go back to her side, but for now he is free to look.

He can smell what must be a place for eating and he peers into an open window. Smells something funny. Like Sten but dirtier. Sweatier. Dog sticks his head in through the window, sniffing, and barks because he sees a giant man with one eye who could be like Sten but Sten did not have horns. Sten also smelled of sweet things he kept hidden and shared with him.

The giant man tilts his head and waves. Dog barks.

That man needs a bath. Does no one make him take a bath? His lady makes him take a bath a lot. Sometimes he isn’t even that dirty.

It is not like Ferelden here, people tell him to go away. In Ferelden dogs are everywhere. Maybe Skyhold is different than Orlais.

The man near the bar smiles at him so maybe it is. Or maybe he is Ferelden.

He turns and sees his lady speaking to a man in a large brown coat. The man seems familiar. Dog will go to her later.

He climbs into the window, trots over to the man who smells like Sten. Does this man know Sten? Is Sten well? Does Sten still make the little sweet things?

He asks. The big man pets his head.

“Well aren’t you a fine dog? And who do you belong to?”

He _is_ a fine dog. He fights at his lady’s side. His brave lady who almost left him behind but didn’t. He tells the big man this. The man hums and his hand is very large, larger than Sten’s. This is a good man. He can tell. He is an excellent judge of character.

Dog sits and he waits for his lady’s call but in the mean time he will try to find out if this man knows Sten and if he can get Sten to send more of the little sweet things.

> dog watching surana meet members of inquisition

“It’s almost eerie, the way he just stares at you.” Dorian says, wrinkling his nose when the dog’s ears flick to him and his lip raises to show his teeth. “Good boy?”

“You realize, that he does understand that you are speaking about him, yes?” The Warden Commander replies, “Nice work on the library, by the way. Leliana told me about what a mess it was. I can’t believe you have so many books on nugs. What about the fennecs and halla and all the other random wildlife that keeps accidentally getting struck by lightning because they don’t know better?”

Dorian snorts. “I suspect that’s the natural bias of our spymaster showing through. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I should think that of all the places in Skyhold to visit, it would not be the library with the hung over Tevinter mage that you would visit first. Unless you really are here to talk about the research findings we have on nugs, in which case I may have to direct you to someone more involved in that, and mentally re-asses my opinion of the famous Hero of Ferelden.”

Dog growls. Dorian growls back.

The woman laughs and the dog stops, sitting down and placing his head on top of a pile of books.

“Well, considering that the other magical expert on elven runes has mysteriously vanished, that leaves you to speak with.” The woman replies. “And I must admit that the circle doesn’t exactly train in the reading of the lost and ancient language of elves, even when one is an elf. As you can imagine, it’s not very helpful when you grow up and start needing practical knowledge when fighting against undead, demons, darkspawn, and other such miscellaneous hazards.”

“Tragic oversight on their behalf.” Dorian replies, “Well. Let me just get the research and a nice bottle of wine as I attempt to get over the fact that I am speaking to _the_ Hero of Ferelden.”

“If it makes you feel any less star struck, technically I am _a_ Hero of Ferelden, of which there are several in history. I’m just one of the ones still alive. Miraculously.”

> surana  meets cullen post dai

“You look much better than I last saw you. All the mountain air must do one good.”

“Not taking lyrium also does wonders for one’s health.” He replies. And for all that he likes to think he is better, she looks – well. Cullen admits that holding the Inquisition’s forces together can be a trying task at the best of times, a nightmare at the worst. He can not possibly imagine being the Commander of a force such as the Gray Wardens.

She is still beautiful, and Cullen doesn’t think he will ever be able to think of her as anything but beautiful. Even in the nightmares of her, she’s beautiful. But she is older, as is he, and there is something tired and weighted to her that was never there in their years at the Circle. Something weary that she wears on her shoulders.

She wears it well.

He supposes that she has always been good at wearing such things.

He dips his head to her. “Warden Commander Surana.”

Her mouth curves upwards, and there’s something of that old teasing laughter in her eyes when she nods back. “Commander Rutherford of the Inquisition.”

There are years of regrets he has to give her. Apologies for silence and blind eyes. Apologies for things said, his ignorance, his willing participation in the corruption of the order, the cruel things he has said and done with ready excuse. He has years of things he has come to realize to apologize for. Years of thanks, gratitude, and respect.

She has saved his life many times over and he has never thanked her for it. He knows she did not do it for thanks or recognition.

That was never her. She always did things because she felt they must be done. The opinions and regards of anyone affected were peripheral. This, too, is something he has always respected and admired in her.

“So. This is the army that brought down the one who would be God?” She says, moving to stand next to him and survey their troops. Their numbers are smaller, now, that Corypheus is gone. But their numbers are large and the Inquisition is still growing. Cullen doesn’t know if they’ll ever need an army again, but he knows that people need protection until true change can be brought and hopefully the Inquisition will be that for them. “Not the best color choices, but I suppose it doesn’t matter what they’re wearing as long as they get the job done.”

“You sound like Leliana. Unfortunately, at the time, this was all we could afford.”

“I should hope I sound like Leliana after having her yell at me via messages for over ten years.” She laughs. “Speaking of, where _is_ she? I half expected her to shoot a poisoned dart at me as soon as I set foot on Skyhold’s main bridge and have me dragged away and locked up so she could rip me an new one for missing out on what could very well be the climax in a series of incredibly unfortunately timed events.”

“She’s with the Herald – the Inquisitor.” Cullen replies. “And where that is, I know not, I’m afraid. The Inquisitor has a habit of wandering Skyhold’s more – secluded areas without telling anyone.”

“Not up to anything naughty, I hope.” Surana raises her eyebrows and Cullen coughs.

“Not in the way you’re thinking, I assure you.” Inquisitor Lavellan is an entirely different meaning to the words of strange, naughty, rebellious, and other such adjectives than Surana was, _is_. “Perhaps I may serve as a distraction until she can be found?”

“I don’t know. Your duties aren’t suddenly calling you away, are they?” Surana cocks her head, as if listening to something in the distance. “Though, I suppose there aren’t many people who _could_ suddenly call you away, are there?”

An entire decade passed and she still remembers.

Of course, Cullen remembers, too. Mostly because he’s never been very good at forgetting embarrassing moments.

“I’m sure they would be willing to wait for the Warden Commander of Ferelden.” Cullen replies.

“And for a friend?” She asks.

“And,” Cullen amends, careful as he says the words that have been over a decade in the waiting, “For a friend.”


	3. Birthday Prompts (I)

**Your Lavellan and Cole playing 'brighten everyone's lives up' pranks that are nice and sweet to make everyone at Skyhold happier (I really like your Lavellan; she's really adorable)**  
  
"You don't actually _know_ what a prank is, do you?" Sera says - getting shushed as Lavellan and Cole peer over the banister, hiding mostly behind the wooden wall next to Sera's door as they watch the fruit of their... _prank_.  
  
Yeah. Right. Not _really_ a prank.  
  
"Leaving flowers for someone under someone else's name isn't a prank. That's like - a set up. A _nice_ set up. That's not a pie to the face." Sera says, and is summarily ignored.  
  
"Well Krem wasn't _doing_ anything." Lavellan explains in a hushed voice.. "Even after I had Dorian talk to him. Krem _deserves_ love in his life."  
  
"Warm hands, kind heart, heard and be heard. He would listen. She would _hear_."  
  
Sera rolls her eyes.  
  
"Wait, what's he doing?" Lavellan whispers, " _What_ is he doing?"  
  
Lavellan grabs Cole's arm, "This wasn't part of the plan."  
  
" _No_. It wasn't." Cole agrees.  
  
"What, what's happening?" Sera asks, leaning over the two of them, "Ah. _Sucks_."  
  
"Bull put it down. _Put_ it _down_! Put! It! _Down!_ " Lavellan hisses and Bull looks up at them and shakes his head, pointing at the flowers - "What's he saying?"  
  
"Wrong color. Krem wouldn't pick these." Sera says, "Not believable. Should've gone with the daisies and embrium instead."  
  
"Easy to find, easy to protect, wide and proud and light things, bobbing softly like music and the heads of patrons. Yes. Yes. _Better_." Cole says, "Not the violets, sleepy, soft, slumbering, slipping. Now we know for next time. _Not_ violets."  
  
-  
  
 **Prompt: Merrill visits Skyhold. (Hawke lived so lets not make it too sad). How hard does she school everyone?**  
  
"I'm going to kill the dwarf." Cassandra announces.  
  
"For what, this time?" Cullen asks, out of politeness more than anything else, not really paying attention to what she’s saying, because if one doesn't pay attention to a fight when playing dummy for Cassandra Pentaghast one could get seriously injured. Or dead.  
  
"You ask like you don't know." Cassandra snorts, ramming into him with her shield. Cullen digs his heels into the dirt and adjusts his stance before pushing her off. "Merrill is in Skyhold. And she's upset _Morrigan_. As if Morrigan were not a trial to deal with when she's not upset."  
  
Cullen winces, due to both sympathy and the slight tingling feeling in his arm.  
  
"Has she gotten a chance to speak with Solas or Sera yet?"  
  
"No, and when she does I'm not dealing with it. We have an entire flock of ambassadors who's sole purpose is to talk things over. I don't see why I am called in to deal with things like this."  
  
It's because no one would dare fight Cassandra with words or blade. She has a very intimidating aura. He's not certain why she isn't the Commander of the Inquisition, to be honest. He's one hundred percent certain Rylen and the others wouldn't give her the amount of lip he gives Cullen.  
  
Cullen grunts as she charges him again, and they really need to figure out how to make sturdier dummies because Cullen needs his arm functional for paperwork and reports.  
  
He wishes she weren't mad at Blackwall. Aside from himself and the Iron Bull, Blackwall's the only other one who volunteered - willingly - to be her partner.  
  
Apparently not even the Chargers are this masochistic.  
  
"Has she gotten a chance to speak with the Herald?"  
  
Cassandra snorts. "Are you joking? I don't think the two have been out of each other's sight for more than half an hour since Merrill got here. I am fairly certain that the Inquisitor is actually directing her at people who've slighted her in the past in order to get revenge."  
  
That would actually make a little bit of sense, to be honest.  
  
"Is that why they went to Morrigan first thing in the morning?" 


	4. Fic or Treat 2015

  
**Fic or Treat; Abelas & Lavellan?**  
  
 _Once_ , she thinks in a voice that echoes with age and wisdom and mystery, I was but a lonely soul in the dark. A woman who cried out against injustice.  
  
And now look upon what my pride has wrought.  
  
Abelas looks at her, and the absence of her, and this is not how she thought they would ever meet again.  
  
She supposes she should be grateful it isn't on opposite sides of the battlefield.  
  
"I thought that you would follow _him_." She says.  
  
Abelas tilts his head bird and snake at once. "Fen'Harel, you mean. There are those who would, yes. And what makes you think that _I_ am one of them?"  
  
"He seeks to bring back which you lost."

Abelas snorts, derisive and somehow fond at once. "The Dread Wolf is one of the youngest of our pantheon. Optimistic, foolish, naive. What is lost can never be returned. No, I do not follow the Wolf."  
  
"At least _one_ of you has sense." Lavellan mutters.  
  
"Many of us have sense." Abelas replies. "We do not all follow the path of the Wolf. Many of the sentinels of Mythal have dispersed and left. We watch, but we do not follow. Our duties are done. Something which I believe _you_ may understand."  
  
And that answers her question of how much he knows of the world's current happenings.  
  
"So now what do you do?"  
  
Abelas peers into her.  
  
"I believe that is a question for the both of us, is it not?"  
  
And then something comes away on his face, for a brief moment. A sort of reverence, a longing and awe. The sort she never wanted. _Never_.  
  
And rage, familiar and comforting oozes up through the cracks of her.  
  
"No." She breathes through the white hissing haze in her ears. Because she knows that look. "I will not become _her_ for you."

For anyone.  
  
Veiled and closed, Abelas' face betrays nothing.  
  
"I am not Andraste or Mythal come again." She says, "I am only myself. And I will change it for nothing and no one. Never again will I submit. Never again will I surrender a part of me."  
  
"As you say." Abelas says. "And what if I give freely?"  
  
" _Prove_ to me it is _free_. Nothing in this world is."  
  
"You are truly the Dread Wolf's pupil. You speak like him."  
  
Lavellan tilts her chin up. "As you said, he is _optimistic_. Foolish. Naive. Perhaps it is _he_ who has learned to speak like _me_."  
  
"Such _pride_."  
  
"I have already had my _fall_. There is nothing left in me but my _pride_."  
  
"Spoken like - "  
  
"I do not hear you." Lavellan cuts across him. And Abelas tips his head downward in submission. "I am _leaving_."  
  
"And if I follow?"  
  
"Then you follow. But I am not leading." Lavellan pauses and perhaps there is still something of the lonely girl inside of her, the one who cries in the dark, because she concedes - "But if you were to walk beside me, you would be most welcome."


	5. Fic or Treat 2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fic or Treat! & Happy Halloween, could you do something with iron bull and lavellan? Like romantic styles if you're ok with that?

If he looks at her too long, he thinks he might die a small death. Dragons, wyverns, demons – old things, dying things, killing things, are in those eyes. If he looks at her too long, he thinks he might die, too.

He was once a number, and then he was Hissrad. And then she looked at him and said _His name is The Iron Bull_ and Hissrad was dead and now he is this. Now, she looks at him and if he looks at her too long, The Iron Bull will die too.

She says with a mouth made for killing songs, _Lethallin_.

And Bull’s heart kicks against his ribs like it’s trying to tell him something – he doesn’t know. Run, stay, stop, go. It probably doesn’t fucking matter at this point. This point, here, his hand tracing a line down her throat, the pad of one of his large wide fingers pressing to the narrow, soft little well of a dip between her bird collar bones.

Then her mouth shifts and her eyes deepen and Bull swears to anyone who’d listen that the real threat to the world, the one who’s really going to destroy and conquer and reshape shit is right here. It’s not Corypheus or anyone on a fancy throne and crown – it’s her.

She’s in the center of it all and she’s growing, vaster and faster than anyone could’ve ever guessed. ‘Cos looking at her, Bull first though – wild.

Not wild like he’s wild. Not wild like how Sera’s wild. Nah. She’s too wild for their wild.

Wild like forest and grass growing and swallowing entire villages wild. Wild like a stampede and avalanche and a flock of birds descending wild. Wild like the huge, scaled and finned things that lurk just underneath the waves of the waking sea wild.

A lurking kind of wild.

That kind of wild speaks of power, but not the kind of power that changes worlds. Not really.

So Bull – Hissrad – was wrong when he looked at her and saw wild.

He didn’t see this. No one sees this.

Her mouth shifts as his finger traces lower, over the bird-falcon-dragon flutter of her bones and breast.

Her mouth is a mouth stupidly beautiful enough – to him at least – to hang a man or thousand. The voice that launches a thousand battles. The voice that sings war to starts and finishes.

If he believed anything he’d pray to them for her because she’s a nightmare all on her own and it should be fucking weird that she’s a dream.

The center of a storm, the center of the world.

 _Kadan._ She shapes with her killer of a mouth and Bull breathes out a long, long surrender and it’s almost like he’s the one who needs to say the word _Katoh_ because this is too much _she_ is too much for him. She is younger. Smaller. Lesser in so many ways but she is too much in all the ways that count like blows to the spine. _Kadan_ , she repeats, and her fingers snarl and snag against the chord of a dragon’s tooth that hangs around his neck – the best sort of leash – and the magic of her hands sings promises into his skin. She’s going to kill him someday, maybe he’s already dead and he doesn’t know it yet. She hasn’t figured out a name for him all of her own.

“Kadan.” He repeats, to her, his center because his life is nothing but centers. Lavellan’s heart is steady and quick – not as quick as you’d think, not when she looks like a girl-bird-fluttering thing. Not heavy like you’d expect from a nightmare-dragon-killer thing. Somewhere in the middle. Like a dream.


	6. Fic or Treats 2015 [6]

**Fic or treat!! Lavellan hurt, Dorian comforts?**

“How you survived without me for this long I don’t know.”

“I am capable of surviving things by myself.” Lavellan says as Dorian inspects the sluggishly bleeding gash on her arm. Dorian makes a face.

“You stick mud in blisters and lick cuts. What were you going to do with this if I weren’t here? Lick it? You can’t lick your own elbow, you know. _Don’t try it now_.”

Lavellan pauses in the middle of attempting to bring her mouth towards the cut and blinks at him, innocently like she wasn’t just about to do what he literally told her wasn’t possible in his face.

Dorian sighs and points to his eyes and his temples “See this? These wrinkles? This gray? That’s you. All you.”

“I don’t see any.” Lavellan squints. “And I have better eyes than you do.”

“Your eyes must be going. It’s the trauma of the injury, I’m sure.” Dorian replies. “Hold still. This will sting.”

Lavellan goes still and obligingly waits as Dorian opens the wound to clean it out and pour in a healing remedy. He sees her bite her lip a little, just a little though. Not because of pain – no, that’s the face she gets when she’s thinking.

“A copper for your thoughts, love?” He says.

“How did _you_ know that you’re not able to lick your own elbow?” Lavellan asks and Dorian rolls his eyes. “Did you try?”

“No. Because I learned it in school along with how to heal injured and clumsy friends like you.”

“I’m not _clumsy_. Though I am injured.”

“You’re clumsy. You will go down in history as Inquisitor Lavellan. The clumsy one that keeps getting into accidents that somehow don’t kill her _or_ make her that much stronger.”

“Not _the elf_?”

“As you have recently proven, there has been _more_ than one elf to be Inquisitor.” Dorian says, and he sees the glow of pride on her cheeks. Dorian can’t help but smile with her. “But I’m fairly certain that you’re the clumsier one.”

“We don’t know that for _sure_.”

“No. No. I’m fairly certain of this one. It’s a high bar to meet if he is clumsier than you are. A very high bar, indeed.”

**Fix or treat! Something with fenris or Isabela?**

“Should I be concerned?”

Varric looks between the two who have somehow managed to break into Skyhold and knows that the Seeker is going to _hang him_ by his _hair_ over a battlement for this. Unless someone manages to intervene and he’s pretty certain that not even the Inquisitor could stop her now.

“You allowed Hawke to _leave_.” Isabela says. “ _Alone_ after entering the _Fade_. I don’t think we need Merrill to tell us that’s a bad idea.”

Varric glances around.

“No, we did not bring her.” Fenris answers, “Though she wanted to come.”

Varric sighs. “Look, you know Hawke. How was I supposed to keep Hawke here? That’s like telling a storm to stop. You don’t.”

The two just give him _looks_ and Varric sighs.

“Hawke’s probably halfway to Weisshaupt by now. I told you in the letters, it’s all fine. Any news from Carver?”

“Carver seems well.” Fenris says, “Shaken but well. He has been informed of the nature of this calling. He has also been informed of the nature of Hawke’s current actions and wishes to have a word.”

“That’s a polite way of saying Carver is ready to kick Hawke’s ass.” Isabela says, “I might just help. I’m sure Aveline would like go tag in at some point. You?”

“That remains to be seen.” Fenris replies, “I think the three of you may have a handle on things without me.”

“Ah, but you want to.”

Fenris hums in concession.

“I’m fine, by the way.” Varric says. “Thanks for asking.”

“You’re always fine.” Isabela says, “Lucky dwarf.”

“Very lucky dwarf.”

Varric rolls his eyes. “Not if the Seeker finds out you’re here.”

“She’s not still mad about you lying is she?” Isabela raises an eyebrow, “That’s a little petty I think. It all turned out well in the end.”

“Don’t worry, dwarf, I’m sure your end will be swift. This Seeker does not seem the type to prolong torture, much.” Fenris says, making himself comfortable in a corner facing the window and the door to Varric’s room. “Though I am sure that you would have done something to deserve her ire.”

“Varric’s an acquired taste.” Isabela muses.

“How are we even friends?”

“You owe me money.” Isabela says at the same time Fenris says, “I owe you money.”


End file.
